


it's okay to pause

by tryslora



Category: Welcome to PHU Series - Tris Lawrence
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, Magic, Missing Scene, Single Parents, Teleportation, Yuletide Treat, taekwondo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 12:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17100200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: “You’re mothering me.” It’s petty and whiny and Pawel says it anyway, because damn it, he has this under control. He knows what he’s doing.“Maybe you need it,” Mac shoots back.





	it's okay to pause

**Author's Note:**

  * For [froggydarren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggydarren/gifts).



> You said "any" :) Happy Yuletide!!
> 
> This is a canon compliant scene that fits in before the Family & Friends arc of _Missed Fortunes_. It was inspired by this bit between Pawel and Carolyn at the start of that arc:
>
>> Pawel opens his mouth, closes it, then rubs at the bridge of his nose with the tips of his fingers. “It’s a sign of just how exhausted I am that my first thought was to retort you’re not my mother,” he mutters. “What’s sad is that I said exactly that to Mac earlier. The two of you. God.” He inhales roughly, exhales in a rush. “I’m fine, Carolyn. I’m tired, yes, but there’s a lot going on, and I need to keep you kids from doing something beyond your abilities. I need to keep you safe.”

The blow to Pawel’s head leaves his ears ringing. He mutters under his breath, steps back and gets his hand up to intercept Mac’s foot before she gets there to do it again. When he pushes, she disappears, reappearing on the other side of the ring.

She grins.

Pawel tries to grin back, but he suspects it’s more of a tired grimace. His breath is rough in his chest, ragged and tight. He wants to stop, but his alarm isn’t ringing. He can’t tap out, so instead he crooks his finger and motions for Mac to come closer. “Fight,” he says, the order hoarse.

“You look like shit,” she responds. She shuffles closer, moving off to the right, and he follows her movement.

He watches for the little changes in the air around her that means she’s going to teleport, and as soon as she blurs, he spins to the left, catching her across the chest with a solid roundhouse as she reappears. She’s gone before he can shift his position for a second kick, and he kicks through air instead of hitting her head.

“Don’t be predictable,” he mutters. “Respect your elders.”

“By four years,” she replies.

He spins around, and she’s already bowing as the alarm sounds on his phone. She steps in to shake his hand, then pops to where his phone lies on the windowsill to stop it from sounding.

Pawel considers sinking to the ground right where he stands. He watches Mac move, and she still seems blurred. He’s not sure if that’s her Talent firing on instinct somehow, overblown from using it too much, or if it’s his eyes.

Sitting sounds better and better, and he lets his legs buckle and take him down into an inelegant kneel on the mats. It’s not comfortable with his chest protector in the way. He reaches for the straps that tie it on his back, but Mac bats his hands away as she undoes them.

“Like I said,” she murmurs. “You look like shit.” She tugs the straps free, pulling at the chest protector, and Pawel takes off his helmet so he can let the chest protector rise over his head and off.

He can breathe more easily now, and he sucks in a long breath and holds it until his lungs feel slightly renewed.

“Have you been you sleeping?” Mac comes around, crouches in front of him. Her chest protector has already been discarded, and Pawel must be moving slowly if he missed her getting rid of it. She still has her arm and shin guards on, and her hair is pulled back with a bandana. Tendrils twist around her face, and beads of sweat drip along her nose.

“You’re not my mother,” Pawel retorts, before his brain catches up with him. He groans, presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Fuck. And no, I’m not. You know I don’t sleep much.”

“There’s a difference between not much and not at all, Pawel.” Mac squeezes his shoulder before she gets up. “Can’t have you dying before we test in the summer.” As she walks away, she adds, “and we can’t have you passing out during class. Either the ones you teach, or here. I’m worried about you.”

“You’re mothering me.” It’s petty and whiny and he says it anyway, because damn it, he has this under control. He knows what he’s doing.

“Maybe you need it,” Mac shoots back.

His jaw sets, tight, teeth grinding. He puts his hands on the floor and slowly pushes to his feet, feeling like he’s twice his age. Which is embarrassing, considering he hasn’t even hit thirty yet. He stretches, hands at the small of his back, and is gratified when something cracks and pops.

Maybe that’ll help.

Probably not.

“I need you to teach the taekwondo club tonight,” he says. He grabs his discarded helmet and chest protector, then makes his way to where his gear bag lies flopped on the floor. He lowers himself carefully, peels off the remainder of his gear once he’s safely sitting. Everything soaked with sweat, so he did get a good workout in.

He’s not sure he actually remembers most of it, which is either a good sign or a bad sign. He chooses to ignore the latter option. He worked hard enough to let go of his stress. That’ll help him tonight.

“When don’t I teach it? You’re just the faculty—” Mac stops abruptly. “You mean in the sense that you aren’t even going to be here pretending to ignore everything until you accidentally take charge.”

“I mean that I have a meeting with Carolyn and Kit about some plan they have that is probably completely insane and I need to be there to make sure they don’t just go do it on their own,” Pawel mutters. It’s more than he should say, but his filters have apparently disappeared in his exhaustion.

On the other hand, this is Mac. She isn’t going to censure him for anything, nor will she repeat it. Which is good.

She finishes clipping her gear into her bag, then leaves it aside so she can join him on the floor. She sits down, her knees bent, and leans into him, one arm across his shoulders. “You’re not their dad,” she says quietly. “You can’t protect them from everything. We’re all idiots. You’re an idiot. I’ve seen you be an idiot, and you’ve seen me be an idiot. I’m pretty sure that anyone under thirty is an idiot, and the Talented crowd seem higher on that scale than most.”

“Things are coming apart,” Pawel says quietly. He leans forward, head in his hands, as Mac’s hand strokes circles across his sweaty back. “I’m not sure I have any control over the situation. And I don’t mean what Carolyn plans to do. I mean any of it, Mac. All of it.”

“You mean Alaric being a dragon, and the world realizing that I’m here, and the messed up soul mark ceremony, and the shadows,” Mac says softly. “You mean all those things, plus everything else that I probably don’t know about, none of which is under your control.”

“Conor’s magic is stronger.” Pawel rubs his own temples, because this is just one more thing he can’t figure out how to deal with. “I don’t know what it’s like to grow up with magic because I didn’t. But Conor—I have a feeling he’ll eclipse me when he’s grown. And right now, every time I turn around he’s doing something he shouldn’t. By accident. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, and thank god for Emily helping out with him. But I just—I feel like I’m not giving him the time he needs. And I know what it’s like growing up with a single father. That one I know well.”

“Do you think the magic is because he’s angry at you?” Mac asks.

A shudder rolls through Pawel. “No,” he says quietly. “Not consciously. Maybe subconsciously. Or maybe it’s just that he’s in third grade, and school’s harder than it used to be. And kids are starting to figure out their social spheres and nothing’s easy. I need to be a better father.”

“Conor’s more important than trying to take care of everyone here,” Mac reminds him.

And that’s the thing. Yes, Conor’s more important. Conor’s his life. But at the same time… “Doesn’t it feel sometimes like the world is ending?”

Mac huffs a short laugh. “Pawel, I’ve been under fire. I’ve crouched in a very small space, praying not to get hit with bullets, because I didn’t have the energy left to teleport out. I’ve been in war, remember? Half the time it doesn’t take much for my brain to convince me the world is ending.” Her voice lowers, gentles. “But yes, I know what you mean. The thing is, you have to remember that you’re not the only one here. We’re all here. All of us. You aren’t Gandalf, or Dumbledore. We’re all on the same level. If you go to war, we go to war. Spread out the responsibility. Because if you don’t, it’ll bury you, Pawel.”

He exhales, nodding once before he lets his head drop. He closes his eyes, breathes slowly as she lightly rubs his back.

He’s exhausted, and he doesn’t want to admit it. He’s afraid that if he stops moving, he’ll fall asleep and won’t wake up for days. He can’t afford that right now.

Mac pats his back. “And yes, I’ll teach tonight, and you deal with Carolyn. Text me later and let me know what’s going on. If you need someone to talk to again, I’ll be around.” She gets to her feet in a far more fluid motion than anything Pawel thinks he can handle right now.

She pauses before walking away, crouches down in front of him, elbows on her knees. “When you’re in the middle of a battle, everything looks like a bullet, and all you can think is fight, flight, or freeze. And it’s okay right now to freeze, take a step back and look at it all. Pick your path and commit to it. Support people, and let them support you back. I know it seems like life or death out there, and in here it’s just you and me training so we can test for rank in the summer. But it’s not all that different, is it? We have to trust each other. You need to trust them. It’ll work out, Pawel. Just remember, there are shoulders you can lean on. So lean on them.”

She reaches out with the last words, and he clasps her hands, lets her haul him to his feet. He doesn’t let go of her then, pulls her in to hold on hard. She may be smaller than he is, but she takes his weight, lets him share the burden of being upright, just for a moment.

“Thanks, Mac,” he says quietly.

“Anytime,” she says. “Just yell, and I’ll have your back.”


End file.
